A Different Sense of Self Preservation
by Glassique
Summary: Katniss struggles with the reality that Peeta died in the arena during the 74th Hunger Games. Warning: Triggers. *This is another practice piece for an upcoming Haymiss story that I'm working on. If you want something a little more sweet and happy, check my profile for "You Make Me Happy".*


_**A/N:**__ So this is just a little more practice for a story that I'm working on at the moment. Right now I'm hashing out the plot line and I don't want to start writing until it's finished because I don't want to work myself into any plot holes. This is also my first crack at creative writing-I'm a Computer Science major so... I don't spend a whole lot of time writing, especially for my own enjoyment. _

_Katniss is struggling after Peeta dies in the arena. This isn't exactly like her break downs in Mockingjay because she has much more clarity of mind in this moment than she ever had in Thirteen. If you decide to review please let me know if my version of Katniss in this alternate universe is believable. I'd also appreciate any type of constructive criticism regarding my writing or style. Like I said, I have no background when it comes to writing so I'm just sort of winging it._

_Hopefully this piques your interest._

_**Update:** The first chapter of this story (When Ice Meets Fire-sorry lame title) is up if you wanna check it out!  
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Sitting alone on the forest floor has made me really appreciate the fact that Gale works in the mines now. Of course I miss our time together. Or at least I miss how it used to be. Before the games, that is.

The games may have changed me, but my woods remain the same. And I'm so unbelievably grateful for that. It's here that I can think, I can cry. I don't have to be strong for Prim. I don't have to be a Victor.

The word burns in my mouth. I'm not the victor in this situation. I died in the arena. Or at least my soul did. Which brings me to Peeta. My thoughts always bring me back to Peeta.

I cry because I'm sorry. I cry because I hate the games. I cry because I'm alive while he is dead.

To say the games are unfair would be an understatement. But then again, the odds were never exactly in our favor. They never have been.

Sometimes I cry because I wish I died alongside Peeta. Why didn't I just eat the nightlock after I found him? Deep down I know it's because I'm selfish, because the desire for self-preservation courses through my veins.

Only now I'm beginning to wonder if the best way to preserve my self, my true self, is to end it all. Today. Tomorrow. Soon. From where I lay on the soft forest floor I can see nightlock berries within my grasp.

As I reach for them a smile slides across my face. These berries represent peace. Something I'll never find in my lifetime. Peeta is lucky. He never has to know what it feels like to be branded a Victor. A murderer.

Before I lower the berries to my mouth, I think of Prim. In this moment I'm oddly able to convince myself that she'll be okay. She thought she lost me once and she lived. She'll do it again. Prim, in some ways, is much stronger than I'll ever be, than I ever was.

I could really care less about my mother. She won't crumble at my death, which is honestly fine with me since Prim needs her anyway. They have my Victor's earnings so they'll be okay. And if that isn't enough, I know Gale will help them.

_Gale._ I almost forgot about him. We haven't really spoken since I came home. It's only been a few weeks anyway. I think he'll miss me, but he'll be better off without having me in his life. I'll never again be the girl in the woods he used to know.

For a moment I consider how Haymitch will take the news until I realize he'd probably drink himself into oblivion like he does on a nightly basis anyway. Why should my intentional death be any different? I realize that I'm leaving him alone and it almost makes me regret my decision until I remind myself that I haven't even seen him since coming back to the District.

Fuck it. I just don't care anymore. I don't want to spend my last moments worrying about Haymitch of all people. Why the hell do I care about him? He's the one that lead me into this fucking imprisonment.

I should have ended this in the arena.

_I'm so sorry Peeta._

I take one last breath of my beautiful woods as I lean my head back to toss a handful of berries into my mouth. Before the berries reach their destination a large calloused hand slaps my lips closed, swiftly knocking the berries out of my grasp.


End file.
